Those Four Little Words
by jojospn
Summary: Sam reflects on those four horrible words he said to his older brother. Based on LilyBolt's chapter "Three Words" from "What Family Is For" with the author's permission.


**A/N: This one is for the awesome LilyBolt, who graciously granted me permission to write this as a continuation from one of her chapters in** _ **What Family is For.**_ **She has been (and continues to be) a great friend and author.** **So thanks LilyBolt for not only letting me continue with this, but for the awesome work! I hope you enjoy!**

 **Those Four Little Words**

 _I hate you too._

Those four little words echoed through young Sam Winchester's brain as he paced the cramped motel room, eyes franticly darting to the alarm clock every few moments. Dean and Dad had been due back from the hunt hours earlier and while still apparently not old enough to even tag along on hunting trips, let alone help out, the young boy knew enough to understand that a simple salt and burn normally didn't take all night and well into the next morning. Hundreds of different scenarios flashed through the young boy's mind as he paced, each one even more horrifying than the last: his father and brother missing, hurt, _dying._ Despite himself, Sam could clearly envision Dad cradling his brother's lifeless body, eyes filled with not sorrow, but hatred at the spirit which claimed his son's life…

Sam shuddered, willed himself to push the terrifying image from his mind. Only to be reminded for the umpteenth time of those four words he'd spat to his brother in anger before… before…

"He's ok," Sam reassured himself, repeating the words like a broken record. "He's gonna walk through that door any minute now and he'll say one of his stupid jokes and the last thing I said to him won't be 'I hate you'…"

But what if it was? What if Dean died thinking his little brother hated his guts? And over something as mundane as resentment over being left out of a hunt? Sam had a good idea that Dean would never hate him, no matter how hurtful his kid brother could be while angry, but the irrational kid in him could not help but think otherwise. Maybe that hurt had been what caused Dean to get injured in the first place: hurt from his brother's words, he'd been distracted, missed a critical opportunity…

"Stop it. Stop talking like he's already hurt. There's a good reason why they're not back at…." Sam glanced once more at the clock, its green digits seemingly mocking him. "…ten after twelve." The boy sighed, peeked once more out the motel window to an empty parking lot. Maybe the Impala had broken down, ran out of gas. No matter that both father and son would never let the tank run dry, or avoid trying to find a payphone to let him know they were fine. Frustrated, Sam dropped on the bed and absently reached for the remote, hoping that the mindless crap would calm him. As expected, the usual dose of daytime talk shows and infomercials did nothing to distract the boy, or ease the increasing panic which threatened to overtake him. Instead, they served as blatant reminders that he was alone, and Dean possibly hurt: a nature survival program reminded him that the only family he truly had was out there somewhere, possibly hurt or dying; a popular mechanics show of classic cars being restored reminded Sam of Dean helping Dad with the Impala; a trailer for a movie both he and Dean wanted to see made Sam's stomach churn. Would he even get the chance to now? Frustrated, the young boy switched off the set, tossing the remote aside in frustration. He knew that he had to get over these irrational fears; it could land him in a lot of trouble when he finally _was_ allowed to hunt. "Always keep a level head, Sammy," Dean would constantly remind him. "You never know what shit could happen while on the hunt. You can't lose your cool or you could end up bein' monster chow." At that, the young boy remembered a saying one of his teachers had told him a year earlier when he'd fretted over some detail for a science project. "Never trouble trouble 'til trouble troubles you," he'd smiled at the boy. _Well, that's all well and good if you're talking about a science project, but this is my brother. The one I said I hated…_

Twelve thirty now. Sam got up, began to pace the room again…

And felt almost weak with relief at the familiar sound of the Impala's engine pulling into the lot.

XXX

"Hey, dude, what's up? You hardly ate your mystery meat," Dean joked, gesturing to the latest "creation" the eldest Winchester had invented from boxed mac and cheese. Sam looked up at his brother, put on one of the most obvious fake smiles Dean had seen in a long while, and stabbed his ketchup soaked pasta and tuna fish absently with his fork.

"Uh uh, Sammy. You're not fooling me. Something's bugging you. And as your awesome big brother it's my job to find out what."

"It's fine, Dean."

"Bullshit. You've been acting weird since Dad and I got back from the hunt. You still upset about earlier?"

"Nope."

"You're a smart kid, Sam, but you're not a good liar."

Sam sighed, dropping his fork into the bowl of glop before him. "You probably thought I was being a baby," he muttered, not daring to meet his brother in the eye. "You and Dad show up later and I think the worst. And after I said I h-hated…" Sam closed his stinging eyes, the familiar lump forming beneath his throat. He knew that Dean didn't hate him, that he would forgive him no matter what horrible things he'd said. Which was what made the whole thing worse. If his brother had gotten pissed off, or had even been indifferent, Sam would not be feeling as shitty as he was. True, he had felt relieved when Dean had comforted him earlier, but after Dad had left that night to try to win back some extra cash at the local bar, the feelings of shame quickly returned.

"Sam, I already told you. It's ok. I'm not mad at you. At least not until you start messing with my stuff," Dean joked lamely, hoping for at least a hint of a smile. Nothing.

"How would you feel if the last thing you said to me was 'I hate you' and I never came back from a hunt?"

Dean shuddered despite himself. "But you wouldn't be alone. At least not for a long while."

"That's not the point, Dean. How would you feel?"

The young hunter sighed, pretended to be interested in his own meal. After a few minutes of silence, Sam eventually gave up and finished his pasta before plopping on the couch with his science homework. He'd been too worried about Dean earlier to even attempt to tackle the problems. For a moment, Dean watched him as he worked, his heart aching for the kid. Because he knew damn well how he'd feel if the last words he'd said to his kid brother were hateful ones. He continued to watch Sam for a few minutes before finally settling on the couch beside him.

"Whatchya working on?"

"Biology. Not that hard, but couldn't really concentrate earlier, you know…"

"Sammy, I'm sorry."

At this, Sam finally looked up from his lessons. "I know. I really do. And I should be fine by now. I'm sorry I was still worked up about it…"

"No, Sam. I really am sorry. Yeah, I knew that you never really hated me. But I should've understood how you'd feel if, well, you know. 'Cause I sure as hell would know how _I_ would…" Dean trailed off at that, instead opting to ruffle the kid's already too long mop of hair. "And who knows? I might even convince Dad to let you tag along next time."

"Yeah, right." But Sam was smiling as he picked up his text and worksheet, ready to finish off his homework. But before he could start, he looked up at his big brother, smiling. "Hey, Dean."

"Yeah Sammy?"

 _I love you._ Sam wanted to say those words so badly, but knew that the sappiness of it would ruin the moment. So instead he grinned, poking Dean playfully on the shoulder. "Next time, keep the tuna out of mac and cheese. I'm not fussy but that was disgusting, man."

Dean laughed, returning the light jab. "Nah. I thought it was gourmet. Might be a chef if I quit hunting."

Which was Dean's way of saying _I love you, too._


End file.
